


Far Away (So Close)

by ApexOnHigh



Category: Foo Fighters, The Police (Band)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApexOnHigh/pseuds/ApexOnHigh
Summary: They were friends.Goodfriends. They both should be happy with that.And yet...
Relationships: Stewart Copeland/Taylor Hawkins
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Far Away (So Close)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sidewinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/gifts).



“You want to see something cool? Check _this_ big boy out!”

“Holy shit!” Taylor knew Stewart loved to collect all kinds of unique and vintage instruments, but this might be the strangest one he’d seen yet. 

It certainly was one of the _largest_. “What the hell _is_ it?” Taylor asked.

“A contrabass flute.” The older drummer stood beside the metal monstrosity that was taller than even he was, beaming like a little kid on Christmas morning. “It’s one of the lowest pitched flutes in the world.”

“That’s a flute?! It looks more like something from the plumbing department at Home Depot.”

“I’ve actually seen a few people build their own with PVC pipes, but this one’s a professionally-made beauty.”

“And let me guess, you found it on eBay?” Taylor didn’t even need to hear the answer; not only did Stewart love collecting these things but he was a sucker for a good bargain.

“Where else. They’re almost impossible to find, unless you want to pay full price for a new one from one of the very few manufacturers out there. I’ve had it on my watchlist for months.”

Taylor shook his head and laughed as Stewart blew some random notes into the metal monstrosity’s mouthpiece. He could play virtually any instrument handed to him at a rapid speed, but not necessarily with any real skill or finesse.

When he finished making noise with his new acquisition, he asked, “What do you think?” 

Taylor scratched his chin, pondering how best to put his opinion. “It sounds like a constipated elephant.”

“Hey, now!”

“But it _is_ cool-looking.”

“It’s going to take some practice. But I thought it might add some unique low elements to the new opera I’m working on...when I can get some professionals in to give it a go. In the meantime, I thought it’d be fun to goof around with.”

“Like there aren’t enough fun toys here already?”

“There will never be enough!” Stewart insisted, with his typical boisterous enthusiasm. “Well, I suppose until I run out of room and need to build an expansion on the house.”

“I’m sure that will thrill Fiona.”

Stewart had loaded his home studio floor-to-ceiling with instruments from all around the world, there for the enjoyment of anyone who happened to visit and wanted to give them a try. He was generous like that, encouraging people to explore musical possibilities and not get hung up on perfection and virtuosity. He was also completely unlike some musicians who didn’t dare let others touch their precious instruments. Only a few things were off-limits at the Sacred Grove, Taylor had learned through the years. Stewart’s father’s trumpet, for one, and a harmonica which had been Ian’s, back from his days in the army. 

And even those, under the right circumstances and with the most trusted people, might be given a chance to sing for a new player. The first time Stewart had entrusted Taylor with “daddy’s horn”, it had felt like he’d been handed Excalibur.

“Here, want to give it a go?” Stewart asked, stepping back to invite Taylor to try it out.

“Nah, I’ll stick with the stuff I can bang on today. Or a little guitar. Whatever the moment moves me toward.” Taylor grabbed a pair of mallets that were next to the percussion rack, gave the cascade of small cymbals a light touch.

“Works for me.” Stewart went to pick up a bass guitar, checked the tuning, then put it back to head to his drums. “Not sure if anyone else from the regular crew swings by this afternoon, but let’s see what mischief we can get up to on our own first.”

Taylor always enjoyed himself so much, jamming here at Stewart’s place or if Stewart came over to visit him. He had fun hanging out with the other drummer, _period_ , because he was such a great guy. He was good-humored, self-deprecating, understanding of all the shit Taylor had been through himself in the past. Also a great person to unload on when Taylor was having difficulties balancing life with the band versus life with a family, and all the other trappings and troubles of the rock and roll existence. 

Didn’t hurt he was easy on the eyes, too. Taylor might have settled down, but he still liked looking. That was simple human nature.

Taylor knew he should consider himself so very lucky, having the chance to hang out with one of his childhood heroes—have him become a close friend and confidant, even. So often, if you did end up meeting your heroes they didn’t live up to expectations. Stewart had exceeded nearly every hero-worshipping thought Taylor had help about him since his childhood, proto-rock star days.

There was only one thing he had ever thought about...or more correctly _fantasized_ about...that sadly would have to remain as such, and no more.

A slight shame, but what could he do? Stewart was married, and happily so. As was Taylor. If he contemplated a little “what if”, now and then, there was no harm in it. He would never let it come between their friendship. One day they could no doubt share a laugh about it.

A jarring cymbal crash from Stewart’s kit pulled Taylor out of his thoughts. “You ready?” Stewart asked, a trouble-making grin on his face as he peered out between the splash and the ride.

“I’m always ready. You’d better pay attention to keep up.”

“That may be the only time anyone’s ever implied I might be _slow_.”

“Yeah, well, watch out. At least we’ll have the video tape to judge at the end of the day.”

*

Stewart watched from the top steps outside his studio. He gave a small wave as Taylor pulled out onto the street, catching sight of the younger man’s bright, toothy smile before he drove off.

Stewart sighed, only with a slight wistful air, and lit up the cigarette he meant to enjoy out here. Fiona would be home soon with the girls—they’d had dance rehearsals after school, if he remembered the notes on kitchen calendar. She was always so organized, so good at making life comfortable, easy. Happy.

Content, more than he’d ever been in his more youthful, wild days.

And yet…

And yet.

Ah, he knew it was wishful thinking. A touch of nostalgia for another lifetime that made him see things through rose-colored glasses for a moment. Life on the road and super-stardom had driven him ragged, made him miss so much of his kids’ growing up the first time around. Had cost him his marriage to Sonja, when the wild ride had come to an end and both of them had realized they no longer really knew who each other were, what they were even doing together.

He had what could almost be the perfect life now. A loving family. Enough money in the bank, especially after the reunion tour with his old mates, to live comfortably. To create the music _he_ wanted to make, take on the commissions that inspired him, instead of having to work as a composer-for-hire. Just enough fame left to enjoy a good amount of the perks while still being able to go about his days without too many of the pitfalls, the head-spinning vertigo of super-stardom.

And yet. 

Taylor had a way of sparking a certain something deep down inside. Something long buried, almost forgotten about, but still there. Certain desires...not so much for life on tour and those crazy days but some of those indulgences he’d enjoyed back then.

Physical ones. Sexual, almost instinctual.

He didn’t miss life on the road...but maybe he missed some of the beds he’d shared, the company enjoyed along the way, if only for a night.

Missed it, wondered about it, especially when they were close, when he caught a certain look from the handsome younger drummer. A movement or gesture that spoke in a language he understood all too well. And it wouldn’t take much to respond to it, in kind.

But he wouldn’t. It was just an idle thought, that’s all. That’s all it could be.

And yet...

He enjoyed his cigarette, allowing his mind to wander down that path for a few minutes longer. But then he packed those thoughts away as he put out the end of his smoke. Maybe he’d surprise Fi and the girls by cooking dinner tonight—a small way to say thank you for all she did for him.


End file.
